Fire Cannot Kill A Dragon
by SuperWhoLockness
Summary: <html><head></head>Lisbeth Salander lands herself in 221B with Sherlock and John under unfortunate circumstances. She's self-destructing and lets herself trust the consulting detective enough to get close, but will she let him help her or will she be the cause of her own end? *M for language, violence, rape, drug use, and an eating disorder. Read at your own risk*</html>
1. Stranger In A Strange Land

A/N: So I'm very much aware how in the Millennium Trilogy, Lisbeth Salander was not anorexic but in this story she is. I suppose it could be consider AU on top of the crossover but this is just a heads up that I know how she was in the books versus in this story and it was not an ignorant mistake, it was intentional.

On that note, I hope I won't be the only one who reads/enjoys this fanfic. If you do enjoy it, let me know, okay?

Also, one last thing. If you don't understand the Swedish and there's no hints around, Google Translate is a beautiful thing. And I fell in love more with Daniel Craig in the movie version so that's the version you're going to get in this story as far as Mikael Blomkvist is concerned. 

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

.o.o.

.o.

Lisbeth Salander had just gotten out of Scotland Yard after a long time with the Detective Inspector, discussing a paid position for freelance work to look up information they could use in their cold cases.

It seemed a simple enough task for her, and above all, it helped keep her busy. That's not to say she wasn't busy enough exercising for nearly five hours every day. She needed money to stay afloat, and he even directed her towards two men named Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. That seemed unnecessary, however; she had found a small flat in London, not far from Baker Street.

It had the basic amenities but that was all she needed. She wasn't too concerned with food but she had a bathroom, a bedroom, and a small (but somewhat cozy) living room. It would do for her needs.

She was surprised at how easygoing Greg Lestrade had been with letting her work from her laptop from home. He must have seen her appearance and decided what many of her ex-employers had decided: that she would be less of a distraction to others if no one else had to see her all day, or probably more accurately, she wouldn't scare potential clients away.

She walked quickly home in the light rain and as she stepped inside, she heard her cell phone ring. Lisbeth had cursed herself for having forgotten it earlier when she had gone to see Lestrade. She recognized the name on the caller ID as her friend Mikael Blomkvist.

"Hej?" she asked when she hit the answer button.

"Lisbeth… it's good to hear your voice again. I've tried calling for almost a week. Didn't you get any of my voicemails?"

She wet her lips and looked at her halfway unpacked belongings. "Ja. I have. I just haven't had the chance to listen to them. Jag har varit upptagen."

A sigh from the other line and the sound of a spoon gently hitting the sides of a tea mug. "I know you've been busy but a phone call to let me know you're still alive would have been nice."

She couldn't help but smile a little bit. It was nice that he had decidedly learned Swedish for her. She didn't have to talk in English all the time around him anymore, and there was something calming about talking in her native language. Likewise, however, she made an effort to speak English for him, but more often than not, she mixed the two languages together.

"I'll try harder," she promised, her accent seemingly thick. "Jag saknar dig."

A small pause. "I miss you too, Lisbeth. Have you found a job over there yet or are you waiting for Milton Security to give you one yet?"

"Ja. I found one. I saw a Detective Inspector named Lestrade and he told me I could work the cold cases for him. He said he would pay me."

She could feel her stomach rumbling and the dizziness gave her a strange satisfaction. She had only had a bit of toast this morning and water and tea throughout the day. Being nearly eight-thirty, she had made it almost twelve hours without eating. She felt proud of herself in a sick way.

"That's wonderful! I'm glad you found a paying gig. How are you holding up? Are you eating enough?"

He had only a vague notion that she might be anorexic. She didn't do much to hide her illness from him. Lisbeth had given up her bike to run nearly everywhere and he never really did see her eat much.

"Yes, I am eating enough," she lied through her teeth. "What about you? Are you eating enough between working your eight to eleven job?" She teased lightly, taking the focus off of herself and changing it towards him.

"Don't you worry about me. Ja mår bra."

"Jag mår bra," Lisbeth corrected for him. "It's 'I'm fine'. Ja means yes."

Mikael laughed now. "Right, okay. Yes, fine… I should be getting back to work now but I just wanted to check in on you. I'll call tomorrow."

"Nej! No, you won't! I'll be busy tomorrow. Just let me call you," Lisbeth insisted as she walked into her bedroom with her laptop.

"You better call me. It's just as dangerous there as it is here. Jag oroar mig för dig hela tiden."

She smiled again to herself. His words were out of place with his half English, half Swedish accent but at least he was making an effort. "I worry about you too. I'll call in a couple days. Godnatt, Mikael."

"Godnatt, Lisbeth."

When she heard him hang up, she clicked the End Call button on her cell phone and set it aside before she started to browse online. She pulled the slip of paper out of her pocket that Lestrade had given her and typed in the web address he had half-jokingly suggested she visit "if she was bored."

She was met with a green background and a small profile picture of Dr. John Watson and the site contained his personal blog. She scrolled through, reading through them many cases the doctor and his 'consulting detective' had solved and even the ones they hadn't been able to solve. She found it intriguing.

This Sherlock Holmes appeared to be as smart as herself. Quick witted, sometimes stubborn, and apparently had symptoms of Asperger's even though he called himself a sociopath, or rather John wrote how Sherlock thought of himself as such.

Irrelevant in any case. She became bored of the doctor's blog and then did a random search to see if Sherlock Holmes had a blog as well. As luck would have it, he did. She scrolled through and his blog caught her attention more than his partner's had.

_Analysis of Perfumes. How to recognize various types of tobacco ash. Experiments of the coagulation of blood over the course of several weeks. _

He worked scientifically. Not much was said about the cases he worked on like on John's blog. His mind didn't think that way. Lisbeth realized just then that he didn't solve the cases for fun or as a job. He solved them to distract himself from other things.

What other things though?

Tobacco Ash. He was a smoker. Maybe he had other bad habits though.

She read around his blog until she decided she had been stationary long enough. Looking at the clock on her laptop, she saw it was nearly ten already. She searched for the nearest club and then shut the laptop off.

She should get to know the city better. It was time to exercise some more. Lisbeth changed into black leather pants, a black tank top with selective holes that revealed part of the large dragon tattoo on her back and then put her hair up with bobby pins and a rubber band, letting only a few black locks dangle in front of her face.

She pocketed her phone and then hurried out of the cheap flat before heading down the street where one of the London clubs had showed up online in her searches. As she entered the dark building, Lisbeth could tell that this one of the more popular clubs in London. The crowds surrounded her from all sides and produced a warmth that might have reached her bones if she had eaten more than toast today. Instead, she danced to the beat of the electro music until she could feel the sweat dripping down the back of her neck and then walked over to the bar of the club to get herself some water to hydrate her.

She had looked away for a split second before she heard a light voice interrupt her thoughts.

"Can I buy you a drink, Miss?"

Lisbeth looked back at him. He looked kind enough. Short black hair, slim stature although some muscle stuck out from under his gray t-shirt he was wearing. The uncomfortable vibes she was receiving off of him sent alarm bells in her head.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm fine." She grabbed the bottle of water the bartender handed her and unscrewed it before taking a drink.

He gave a small smile and half shrugged. "If you're sure. At least give me one dance? One dance and I swear I'll leave and you won't see me again."

She tongued her cheek and looked over at the people who were on the floor dancing still. "Fine. One dance and then you go dance with someone else, and no touching unless you want to leave here without your hands."

He chuckled and he smiled brightly. "Great. Thank you, young lady! Let's go!"

She watched as he grabbed his alcoholic drink and let him lead her out onto the dance floor before she started to dance to the music and soon she was feeling euphoric. Lisbeth watched as he sipped his drink and they were almost done with the song when she felt cold liquid spill onto her shirt.

She gasped now and examined the damage before she smelled the thick smell of vodka with something fruity. "Jävla idiot! Look what you did!"

He looked genuinely upset now as he tried to use his shirt to dry hers off. "Oh no… I am so sorry! It was an accident, I swear. Let me help you, okay?"

Lisbeth gently pushed him away but then shoved her water bottle at his chest. "Hold this until I get back."

"Yes, yes… of course. I'm sorry again!" He yelled to her as she walked through the crowd towards the bathrooms.

She entered the woman's bathroom and walked over to the sink before grabbing a paper towel and wetting it before adding soap to the towel. Lisbeth rubbed it against her shirt, the smell of flowers and vanilla entering her nostrils thickly as she tried to get the alcohol out of her shirt. She knew it was useless though; she would just need to throw it into the washer.

After moving over to the automatic dryer and trying to air herself out a bit, she staggered out of the restrooms and back through the crowd over to the klutz again. She grabbed her bottle out of his hands now and shook her head in disbelief.

"You can get away from me now. Our dance is over!"

He put his hands up in surrender and then started to walk away from her. She unscrewed the bottle and took a long drink from it before she started to let herself dance again, burning off more calories.

She had gotten through about three songs before she felt strange, detached. Her vision was blurry and everything seemed slowed down. Nausea touched her stomach and she felt like she wasn't in her body, like she was outside it watching herself. She needed to get out of here.

Lisbeth hurried through the crowd and only when she was outside did she let herself empty her stomach near the building, although not much came up. She needed to get home.

Then, without warning, she heard a familiar voice and a hand touch her back. "Hey… what's wrong? Did you come down with something?"

She wanted to feel angry, to hit him, but she couldn't feel much of anything. She felt like she was floating.

"Here, let me take you to my friend's house. He can watch over you tonight and he won't try anything, I promise. I just want you to be safe…"

_He drugged you! He put something in your water! Hurt him! Kill him!_

Her mind was screaming at her but she couldn't put actions to the words she was hearing. They felt empty, surreal. She wasn't even feeling like she was alive. Wait, was she even alive?

That was a stupid question. Of course she was. But she didn't feel her heart beating. She couldn't feel her skin.

"I'm…. I'm dead. I'm… dying…" she whimpered, hating herself for feeling tears prickling her eyes now.

Lisbeth felt terrified but the man ushered her into a cab, even going inside it with her. "It's okay, lovey. You'll be okay. You're not dead yet. We're almost there."

She looked at every corner of the cab and then looked at the oddly calm man. "You… you did this to me…"

"Me? Why on earth would I hurt you? We're friends, remember?" his voice was laced with hurt and right now in her state of mind, it seemed so convincing.

"We are? We're…. friends… I don't… I don't have friends…" her voice felt empty as well, like someone had hit a slow down button on it. It sounded almost robotic to her.

He placed a kiss on her cheek and then took out a marker and Lisbeth watched curiously as he drew a smiley face on the inside of her arm. "Oh! We're here! Go on, then. Off you pop!"

She struggled against the door, taking several moments before figuring out how to work the handle and opened it. He gently pushed her out of the car but not hard enough to make her fall, before he shut the door and the cab rolled away.

Lisbeth looked around at her surroundings and everything was blurred. Where the hell was she? She saw a door that read 221B and decided maybe they could help her somehow, if anyone was even home.

She went to knock on the door but her hand missed. Lisbeth reached over and pressed the round button for the doorbell instead. She swayed and soon felt a wetness start pouring down on her, as if someone had emptied a large bottle of water over her head. She looked up at the sky, her body still swaying and it wasn't long before she was drenched from head to toe.

Time slowed down and she considered pressing the doorbell again when a shorter man opened the door and looked at her with concern on his face.

"Come inside, we can help you. What's your name?"

A thought came to mind before it disappeared again and only something else made sense to her. "J-Ja…."

He looked at her in confusion and then helped her gently inside the flat before he closed the door behind her.

"John Watson?" She questioned now, recognizing the photo on his blog.

He nodded curtly. "Yes, that's right. Err… what's your name? Are you okay?"

She shook her head as both questions blended together to make an uncomprehensive sentence. "Var är jag?"

He bit his lip now and called upstairs. "Sherlock! Can you come down here for a minute?"

There were footsteps and Lisbeth watched with a childish curiosity as another man, this one taller and almost as thin as herself, came bounding down the stairs. "Honestly, John… this is getting ridiculous! We called for take-out nearly ten minutes ago!"

"Sherlock, shut up for a minute, will you? I think she might have taken something."

It was only now that the consulting detective saw the young woman. He walked closer to her and sniffed, smelling the faint smell of alcohol. He searched her eyes in the light of the hallway and looked at John.

"She doesn't appear to be drunk." He watched as she looked around at her surroundings in a daze before he noticed her swaying slightly. Sherlock snapped his fingers and she looked back at him, surprised. "Miss, what did you take before coming here?"

She blinked a few times. "Ingenting, bara vatten. Var är jag?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise now and he smirked. "Oooh, that _is _interesting…"

"What language is that?" John asked curiously.

Sherlock heard his friend but didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked back at the woman. "Are you older than eighteen years old?"

"Ja. Är det inte självklart?"

Sherlock smirked wider. "She's Swedish. This is very interesting. Let's bring her upstairs. Maybe we can get more out of her."

"How are we supposed to do that? Look at her, Sherlock. She can barely stand."

Sherlock chewed on his bottom lip and then in one fluid motion, he picked her up and started to carry her up the stairs easily, John trailing not far behind. "She barely weighs anything…"

John scratched his chin as he followed Sherlock into their flat. "Let's get her out of these wet clothes. I'll find something for her to wear. Help her out of her shirt." He left them alone and went into Sherlock's room and rummaged through his drawers to find a decent looking t-shirt she could wear under one of his dressing gowns.

Sherlock awkwardly started pulling off her soaking wet black shirt and placed it on the floor before he realized she hadn't been wearing anything underneath it. She seemed to realize what he had done and her eyes went wide in terror.

"Nej! Vad fan gör du?"

Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders to try and calm her as he started to find Swedish in his Mind Palace. He kept it in the same room he kept the other languages he had trained himself to learn.

"Det är okej. Du är säker här. Jag ska inte göra dig illa."

John peeked his head out now and looked at him. "What did you say to her?"

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off of Lisbeth and watched as she relaxed slightly and shivered slightly. "I told her that she was safe here, and that I wasn't going to hurt her."

The doctor nodded approvingly at Sherlock's 'bedside' manner before he ducked back inside and started the search again. "Why don't you have a bloody regular t-shirt like every other person in the world?"

Sherlock ignored him and focused on her again, wondering if she knew English. He searched her face. "Kan du prata engelska?"

She looked at him now and hesitated before she nodded. "Y-Yes."

"Excellent. What's your name?"

"I… I'm not sure…" her voice trembled with uncertainty and she pulled her slender legs into her chest before wrapping her arms around them.

Sherlock straightened now, feeling uncomfortable at the visible sight of her spine and shoulder blades. "Umm… John? I think you need to take a look at this…"

John re-entered the room with an old, black t-shirt and one of Sherlock's dressing gowns before he set them down on the couch and moved over to her. He blinked a few times before he looked at her sides and saw her ribcage bones were visible.

"Anorexia?"

John nodded and sighed. "Does she have her phone on her? Maybe we can call someone to come and get her."

Sherlock carefully felt her pants pockets and pulled out a phone. He started to scroll through past messages and then he looked at John. "She has a male friend of some sort but he lives in Sweden. As far as I can make out, she's alone here."

"So what do with her? Take her to the hospital, maybe?" John suggested, sitting down on the couch.

Sherlock smirked again before he helped her into his old ratty t-shirt from his university days, like one would help a child into a shirt. "Hospital? This is one of the most interesting cases I've had in a long time. I think she should stay with us for a couple days until we can get some answers out of her."

John stood up and sighed tiredly. "I'll put the kettle on."


	2. Questions and Answers

Chapter Two

.o.o.

.o.

Sherlock glanced down at his watch a bit impatiently and then looked back at the woman who had become suddenly interesting since she had walked through their door. It had been nearly two hours and she appeared to be coming down from the substance he already had figured out she had been drugged with. Sherlock seemed unnerved to hear her say that the two had met inside a local club. It was such a seemingly innocent place; Moriarty didn't seem to even be in hiding or anything, he was right out in the open.

John sipped his tea gingerly in his armchair, watching the young woman gradually come down from the high she had been on. The glaze over her eyes had dissipated and she looked as if she was her normal self again.

He leaned forward now and cleared his throat. "What's your name?"

Lisbeth looked up at John with a neutral expression on her face, feeling physically exhausted between dancing in the club and what happened afterwards. "Lisbeth Salander."

Sherlock wet his lips now and set his tea down. "You don't seem very surprised to be here with us, which means you already know who we are," he deduced calmly.

She looked between John and Sherlock from her chair where she suspected their clients usually sit in, her legs crossed Indian style. "You are Doctor John Watson," she spoke, looking at John first and then turned her gaze to the younger man, "And you are Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock nodded once but clearly looked bored. He narrowed his eyes in thought and looked at her curiously. "Do you know what you were given, what you were drugged with?"

Lisbeth had figured this out two hours ago when she had gotten sick outside of the club. She had done her own personal experiments at her flat she had shared with Mikael in Sweden with the drug. "Ja, it was ketamine."

Sherlock smiled in satisfaction now, his hypothesis having been correct. John looked at her skeptically though before he looked at him. "How could she know that?"

"It was odorless, tasteless," she answered for Sherlock in a thick accent. "I know what the side effects of it are if swallowed. It wasn't difficult to work out."

"Incredible," Sherlock breathed, impressed.

"I'm sorry, hold on a minute. Incredible?" John questioned, looking concerned. "She showed up here drugged, out of her mind, and as it turns out, Moriarty was the one who did that and then proceeded to drop her off at our doorstep. This isn't incredible, Sherlock! This is worrying!"

The detective rolled his eyes and sighed before he looked back at Lisbeth. "Okay, so you know who we are. Tell me, what's a Swedish woman doing here in London?"

Lisbeth looked a bit surprised for the first time now. "He didn't tell you?"

Sherlock looked even more intrigued now. "Who are you referring to? Moriarty?"

She let out an amused chuckle now, coming to her own conclusions. It would appear that Sherlock didn't want much to do with Lestrade. There was not an open line of communication between the two men even though he had made it seem like they were relatively close.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, from Scotland Yard. He… referred me to you two," Lisbeth answered softly.

Sherlock cursed the DI and then looked back at her. "That doesn't exactly answer my question. What are you doing here, Lisbeth?"

She was soon becoming impatient with Sherlock, feeling the urges to go exercise again, even though it was almost five in the morning. She wanted to be alone.

Lisbeth rarely ever slept anymore; her insomnia and depression had grown worse and worse the past several months that she only ever took short naps every now and then, but never actually slept for more than two hours a day. That was how her exercise habits had started, how her eating disorder grew rampant; she ran to try and tire herself out and she found when she ran more and more, did smaller exercises, she lost weight. At the moment, she was currently ninety-two pounds and already she didn't like the look John was giving her. It was almost like what she imagined a worried father would look towards his anorexic daughter, a look of both concern and fear.

"I wanted to travel and Greg Lestrade gave me a job to help me pay my rent," she answered a bit sourly towards him.

Sherlock looked like he was about to interject when John finally stood up and spoke first.

"Okay, it's nearly five in the morning and we just need to sleep. It's been a late night, the drugs wore off, and we have a lot of issues to discuss," he glanced over at Lisbeth and she could tell it had to deal with her extreme weight loss. "But it can wait until we wake up properly again later."

Sherlock and Lisbeth looked at each other and for a moment, she felt some kind of knowing spark between them, as if they were one in the same. She wasn't receiving the same vibes she had gotten with Jim Moriarty at the club. No, these vibes were something else entirely.

"You go on up to bed," Sherlock replied. "I'm going to talk to Lisbeth for a bit longer."

John gave him a warning look before he gave up, feeling too tired to fight, and trudged upstairs to where his bedroom was. When he was out of hearing distance, Sherlock turned to Lisbeth.

"When did it start?"

"When did what start?" Lisbeth challenged now.

"You know what, Lisbeth."

She stared at him emotionless before she stood up and set her tea cup on the end table and put her boots on. "No, I'm not doing this right now."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and stood up. "Where are you going?"

"If I'm staying here for a few days, I'd like to have my own clothes," she answered simply. "I'm going to my flat. It's about seven minutes from here. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

He set his mug down. "Do you think it wise to go out when a psychopath just drugged you? What if he tries to kidnap you this time?"

Lisbeth started towards the door and then turned to look at him. "He's not going to touch me. He did what he wanted to do. He took advantage of a young woman and sent me here to you two, which means that he was sending a message to you. Worse comes to worse, he's just going to scare me. He won't try to kidnap me."

"You seem so sure of yourself," Sherlock stated, searching her face.

"If you're so worried about me, you can come with, Sherlock Holmes."

He gave a slight smirk and then took a sip of his tea. "Who said I was worried?"

"Fine, then. It'll be quicker without you slowing me down."

She left the room and hurried out of the flat before she started to walk quickly towards her flat, glancing at the street signs to make sure she was going the right way. Her timing was impeccable: seven minutes. She looked around suspiciously but nothing was out of place. Everything was exactly where she had left it before she had gone to the club.

She grabbed a bag and threw her laptop in there before she grabbed her taser from her bedroom table and pocketed it. She threw some shirts, pants, and underwear into the bag before she zipped it up and then started into the kitchen.

Lisbeth opened the refrigerator door to only see a package of strawberries, individual bottles of low-calorie juice, and a package of cheese. She bit her nail anxiously before she closed the door and grabbed the taser out of her pocket when she heard a voice.

"Not much inside, is there?"

She went to tase the man who had been watching her from behind when she felt his hand grab her wrist to stop her and she instantly relaxed when she recognized him.

"You followed me…"

"Of course I followed you," a slightly surprised Sherlock Holmes spoke, not having expected her to have a handheld taser on her. "Where was that when you were at the club? That might have come in useful against Moriarty."

She sighed and ripped her arm out of his grip before she ran a hand through her hair. "I forgot it. I don't usually have problems in clubs with other men. I didn't expect him to drug my bottle of water either."

He smirked now. "You should know to expect the unexpected, Lisbeth Salander. Do you have your belongings? Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes, I'm ready." She lead the two of them out of her small flat with her backpack over her shoulder and walked with him all the way back to 221B, silence heavy between them.

Neither spoke a word until they entered the flat and looked around before looking at Sherlock who was cleaning up the mugs of now cold, undrunk tea. "Dusch?"

"Ah, yes… shower. Right through there," Sherlock directed, pointing towards a space between his bedroom and the kitchen.

"Tack," Lisbeth spoke, speaking her native language again, unable to shake her anxiety she was feeling.

"You're quite welcome," his voice answered before he disappeared into the kitchen.

She entered the bathroom and locked it instinctively before she undressed and got into the shower. The hot water felt calming and she closed her eyes before she started to shampoo her hair with his lightly perfumed hair shampoo and conditioner bottle.

The anxiety was still there as she started to let the body wash run down her limbs and in between, but it wasn't as severe as before. She missed Mikael but at the same time, she had started feeling an attraction to Sherlock. It scared her not knowing if it was just because he was as thin as she was or if it was an emotional attraction.

She didn't know how she felt towards Mikael, not really.

She shut the water off as soon as she felt clean and the grime from her skin and hair were both gone. Lisbeth got out and dried herself off before she put her underwear on and put on Sherlock's t-shirt again, liking the way it smelled. It was still clean anyway.

She pulled on a dark grey pair of sweatpants and then opened the door before making her way out into the living room. A pillow and an afghan had been placed on the leather sofa for her.

_Sherlock._

Lisbeth couldn't help but smiling to herself as she climbed underneath the afghan and laid down, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep yet. It just felt good to relax. Her gaze wandered over to the other side of the room where she saw all of the books in the bookcases.

They were comprised mostly of science and medical books with the exception of a geography book here and there. When she looked over at the table near the windows, she noticed a small violin laying in its case with composing papers around it.

_He wrote and played music. He was artistic. He wrote to think and played to keep himself distracted. _

She smiled to herself. It was interesting to see inside the mind of another intellectual. He wasn't like the other men she had been with. He was different.

"Are you… comfortable? I can probably find another pillow around here somewhere…"

She looked up at him and saw how anxious he looked. Maybe anxious wasn't even the right word. It was more like… antsy.

Lisbeth wet her lips and suddenly realized how much like a young child he looked. She reached over and grabbed the cigarettes out of her bag before she sat up, the afghan still around her body and moved over a bit. He cleared his throat and took her invitation, sitting down beside her and then taking the cigarette she was offering him.

"Tändare?"

In answer to her question, Sherlock pulled out a lighter from his pocket and then lit both of their cigarettes. "Why do you speak Swedish when you can just as easily speak English fluently?"

She took a grateful drag from her cigarette and watched him do the same. "Isn't it normal to prefer to speak in your native language?"

He searched her face, attempting to figure her out as the gears in his mind turned. "Yes, it is, but… besides speaking it for the basic 'yes' or 'no' questions, you've only spoke in it when you came here drugged and whenever one of us asked you something that could be considered an uncomfortable topic. You use your native language as a coping mechanism to answer questions."

Lisbeth took another drag and looked down as she let it out again. She felt a tinge of anger at him having made the deduction about her. "Why do you speak Swedish? You were born and raised here."

"So because I was born and raised in the United Kingdom, I wouldn't have been able to pick up the language?"

She half shrugged and watched him take a drag of his own cigarette now. "You understand it fluently. You knew what I was saying to you and you were fluently speaking it back to me. Tourists would have only picked up the basic words but you're no tourist. Did you teach yourself?"

He chuckled a deep throaty chuckle and smiled to himself. "Yes, I did, actually. I taught myself to pass the time at university."

She reached over and grabbed one of the ashtrays that sat on the coffee table before placing it on her left thigh. "Did you teach yourself Swedish before or after you picked up your drug habit?"

Lisbeth noticed the slightly older man tense up and knew she was right in her own deduction of him. She could play this game as well as him.

Sherlock knocked the excess ash off of his cigarette in the tray before he forced himself to look back up at her. "How about you answer my question and I'll answer yours. We'll play it fair."

Lisbeth thought back to his question he had asked her a few moments ago before she had turned it onto him. "I speak Swedish because I find it oddly calming in stressful situations. It helps me to relax when I can hear myself speak it aloud." She took another drag before she continued. "When he drugged me like that, I felt scared and angry at myself for having let it happen in the first place. He brought me here and I didn't know what was going on. Everything felt hazy and I felt like I wasn't… in my own body. I answered your question, now answer mine."

Sherlock put his cigarette out now and turned to look at her. "I become bored easily, Lisbeth. I dislike when my mind is stagnant so I turn to learning new things, such as languages, to keep myself busy and my mind always working. I started a cocaine habit in university because learning new languages wasn't enough for me. Cocaine kept my mind busy, always thinking about something. Then I realized I needed something else, to help me calm down a bit. Heroin was the key. I went from one to another for about six months and then I quit cold turkey."

"Do you ever miss it?"

Sherlock ran his tongue over his lips. "Sometimes, but then I try to focus on other things. I… try to distract myself."

Lisbeth nodded over towards the instrument on the table. "The violin… you compose to think and you play to distract yourself from using."

Sherlock nodded now. "That's right. I do. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I slip up occasionally."

Lisbeth took another drag form her cigarette before she put it out in the tray as well and then placed the ashtray back onto the coffee table. "Does John know when you slip up?"

"Sometimes, but most of the time he's too busy or too tired from working at the clinic at the hospital that he's not too observant," Sherlock's eyes flickered from the nape of her neck down to her legs and then back up to meet her eyes.

"Are you having cravings right now? Is that why you're out here with me instead of sleeping in your bedroom?"

Sherlock looked down at his hands almost guiltily. "Yes, I believe I am having cravings."

Lisbeth stood up now and held her hand out to him. "Come."

He looked at her a bit uneasily but took her hand and then let her lead him into his bedroom. She closed the door behind him and looked around for sources of light.

Lisbeth wasn't going to turn on an actual lamp so he could see all of her disgusting body. Instead, still having his lighter, she lit one of the candles that rested on the bedside table. He looked uneasy as she pulled off the black shirt she was wearing.

He looked at her wearily. "L-Lisbeth, what are you doing?"

She reached up and gently caressed his jawline with her fingers. "I want to be a distraction for you. I want to help you."

"I… I don't feel that way about you." Sherlock looked at her bare chest, finding her small mounds and figure undoubtedly attractive, if not a bit too skinny for his taste. He didn't know how exactly he felt towards her but he couldn't help feeling some kind of strange pull towards her.

"It's okay," she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt with her thin fingers expertly before pulling his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor with her own shirt. "You don't need to love someone to be physically attracted to them. Love isn't a factor right now. This is a distraction."

She said this so matter-of-factly that it seemed to made scientific sense in Sherlock's head. He hesitantly ran his hands along her arms and then around to her back. "Do… you want this too?"

"Yes," Lisbeth whispered again in the dim light of the room. She undid his belt before she pushed him over to the bed.

Sherlock helped her onto it and then found himself hovering over her, planting kisses along her neck and her lips. He felt her nails make trails on his skin and he felt a shiver run through him. She kissed him back, almost hungrily and soon they found themselves without pants or underwear. Lisbeth closed her eyes to let herself be in the moment with him and relaxed when she heard the sound of a wrapper and felt him slip inside of her.

Lisbeth repositioned their bodies easily so she could be on top. He made no move to change it and even seemed to enjoy her being the dominate one right now. Their bodies glided against each other awkwardly at first as they tried to clumsily fit their pieces together, but when they got used to the movement of each other's bodies, then it felt explosive.

She hadn't had anyone with whom she had such a strong intellectual attachment to before and this felt like the right thing to do. Guilt and self-consciousness was out of her mind temporarily and both were replaced with a sense of strength and the act proved to be a distraction for both of them.

She felt his hands glide along her thighs as he moved inside her, and she moved her hips in turn, moaning as she got closer and closer to her final destination with him. Their breathing was staggered as their hearts both pounded hard against their ribcage.

When the moment hit for them, Lisbeth gasped loudly and held him as he did the same, wrapping his arms easily around her moaning into her shoulder as bliss engulfed them. When it gradually passed, Sherlock still hadn't let go of her as they lay down.

She wrapped an arm around him as she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "Are you okay with what we did, Sherlock?"

He found himself running his fingers through her hair, confusion filling him up. He hadn't felt this way towards anyone else before and it had seemed to happen so quickly. They had only just met and already they had been more intimate than he ever had before.

"I-I'm…. I'm not sure, to be honest. It was amazing, don't get me wrong. I just… haven't done anything like this for a long time. Are you okay with what we just did?"

She looked up at him now. "If I wasn't okay with it, I wouldn't have initiated it." She searched his grey-blue eyes and then kissed his lips. "I don't love you, Sherlock, but I'm glad we did this. It helped you, right?"

Sherlock nodded now. "It did. Did… it help you at all?"

She looked away now, aware that he was talking about her self-image issues now. It was odd; she didn't like how she looked but she felt comfortable when she did things like this with people. Maybe it more of an effect of her low self-esteem rather than loving her body enough to be intimate with someone else. It was almost ironic. Shouldn't she not want to be intimate at all?

"Ja," she answered softly. "It did."

He continued to run his fingers through her hair soothingly. "Good, then I'm glad we both did this."

Lisbeth nodded in agreement and ran her fingertips down his chest. She wanted to suggest they do this every time one of them or both of them needed a distraction but she didn't want to scare him away if he only wanted this to be a one-time deal, so she closed her eyes instead and finally was able to fall asleep.


	3. Morning After

Chapter Three

.o.o.

.o.

Lisbeth woke up and at first, didn't recognize where she was. Light was breaking through the window but only just. It had to be either sunset or sunrise.

She looked over and saw that Sherlock was awake and watching her with uneasy eyes. Something inside of her twisted uncomfortably, uneasiness at his uneasiness. Sympathy? Worry, perhaps? Lisbeth Salander couldn't remember the last thing she felt that towards another person.

"What's wrong? Are you all right, Sherlock?"

He looked at her for a long time and simply nodded before he let out a breath and stood up to stretch. "Would you like some coffee? Tea, maybe?"

"What time is it?"

Sherlock picked up his phone and unlocked it before he glanced down at the time, seemingly unsure himself. "Seven-fifteen. This is the first time I've managed to wake up at a normal time like a normal person. So, coffee or tea, Lisbeth?"

She let out the smallest of smiles now. "Coffee would be great, thank you."

Sherlock nodded and smirked slightly before he left her alone in the room. She waited a few moments, surprised she had been able to sleep for so long. She couldn't remember the last thing she had been able to sleep through the night.

Then something hit her. _He had waited for her to wake up before he left the room. He didn't know proper etiquette for having slept with someone._

She mulled this over in her mind before she finally forced herself out of bed and felt a chill run through her; she was mostly naked with the except of having slept in her underwear. She threw on one of her long t-shirts, tossing Sherlock's black one she had borrowed into the dirty clothes hamper to be washed.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and then walked out into the living room to see John drinking his own coffee and watching news on the television.

"Good morning, Lisbeth. Did you sleep well?" He glanced over at her, smiling politely.

She nodded once in answer before walking over to Sherlock in the kitchen as he made up her cup of coffee. Lisbeth silently monitored her own current emotions. She felt hungry, but that wasn't a new feeling, nor was it an emotion, so she disregarded it. She _was_ feeling a bit anxious as she looked into the coffee cup, internally wondering how much cream and sugar he had put inside it.

Sherlock watched her peer into the cup a bit warily and then leaned in close, her breath on her ear. "One teaspoon of sugar, one teaspoon of low-fat creamer."

She gave him a grateful smile and then took the mug from him as he offered it out to her. "Thank you."

"Of course."

She still lingered near him as he made up his own coffee now. "Vet han om det?" She asked the consulting detective warily.

Sherlock gave her an almost apologetic look and nodded. "Yes," he answered, seeing no point in answering in Swedish when it was already evident to John. "He knows about your anorexia, Lisbeth. He's a doctor, so… it would be his job to recognize it when he saw it."

Lisbeth felt a rock sitting in her stomach now and she sighed in annoyance before finally nodding in acknowledgment. She took her coffee and then moved over to sit on the sofa, crossing her legs habitually as she sipped it.

Sherlock moved into the living room as well but froze momentarily as he looked from his own armchair by John over to the sofa where she was currently sitting, then he moved hesitantly over to where she was.

"Would you mind if I sat down beside you?"

She hadn't expected this and blinked for a couple seconds before shaking her head and moving her body over to give him room on the sofa. He sat down far enough to give room to continue to sit in her Indian-style sitting position, however.

John glanced over at them and also blinked in surprise for a few minutes before he turned his body to look at them, his eyes mostly just looking at Lisbeth, though. "Lisbeth, there are a couple things we should discuss that we haven't touched upon."

She felt her heart sink now. "You're referring to my eating disorder," she stated knowingly. When he nodded but didn't go on to say anything else, she continued. "I have it under control. There's no reason to discuss it."

John wet his lips and took a deep breath. "I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about but this is a pretty serious matter. How much do you weigh right now, ninety-five pounds, max?"

Lisbeth didn't correct him but was semi-impressed at how close he had figured her weight to be. "I have it under control," she repeated, taking a sip of her coffee.

He shook his head, unsatisfied with her answer. "For someone your height, you should be at least fifteen pounds more than you are. You're underweight. I believe that getting you help would be the best option for you right now before we deal with this Moriarty business."

She chewed on her bottom lip now, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. Lisbeth shook her head. "Nej, jag vill inte, diskutera det här nu. Stopp."

John looked over at Sherlock. "What did she say?"

Sherlock glanced over at Lisbeth now, remembering what he had deduced the previous day when they had been talking on this couch.

_"You use your native language as a coping mechanism to answer questions."_

He looked over at John. "She said she doesn't want to talk about it right now and she'd like you to stop."

She took an eager sip of her coffee in an attempt to try and calm herself. The hot liquid only burned her tongue savagely and her anxiety increased.

"You can't just push it aside and assume that we're not going to talk about this. You need help, Lisbeth, before your organs start failing. You're malnourished and we need to help you put on some weight so you can be healthy again," John insisted.

"Jag har det under kontroll. Jag vet när jag will sluta och jag vill inte sluta än," Lisbeth whispered, more to herself than to John.

Sherlock listened to her speak and he felt an unfamiliar feeling start to swell inside him. Pity? Empathy? She had said that she knew when she wanted to stop. It was apparent she had an ideal weight in mind, and she also said how she didn't want to stop yet. So she wasn't there yet.

Why would he feel this way towards someone who didn't want to be helped, though? She was being stupid and stubborn. It was her own fault if she met her own demise from organ failure, or regular heart failure. So why did he feel so compelled to stand up for her, come to her rescue from John's persistent nagging?

John looked at his friend expectantly to interpret what she had whispered. Sherlock took a calm sip from his coffee and searched the doctor's eyes. "John, may I talk to you in the kitchen for a moment?"

The doctor reluctantly set his cup down and stood up before he walked into the other room with the younger man, leaving Lisbeth in the living room as she continued to speak whispered Swedish to herself.

"She needs help, Sherlock," John urged when they were out of hearing distance from her.

"I realize that, John, but she's a bit unstable and I believe she might… she might be a bit like myself. This eating disorder of hers is like my drug habit. I have reason to believe I might be able to help her slowly break out of it. However, she has depression and anxiety and I think that they go hand in hand with her anorexia."

"So what exactly are you telling me, Sherlock?"

He looked at the doctor a bit impatiently but kept his voice low. "Give me time to help her. The two of us have a lot in common and there's a good possibility she will listen to me. Stop nagging her like an incessant father and just leave her to me."

John Watson looked at him curiously but just nodded once. "Okay, sure. If you think you can help her, then… I will leave the subject alone."

"Excellent," Sherlock replied before he started back to sit down again next to Lisbeth.

John watched the two of them before he moved into the living room and grabbed his half drank coffee and placed it in the sink. "I'm off to work. Do you want take-out for dinner tonight?"

"Yes, John. Now leave or you'll be late for work."

John grabbed his coat and cast the two of them one last look before he left the flat for the hospital.

"He's gone now," Sherlock replied after a minute and a half. "I talked him into leaving you alone, for now."

She visibly relaxed now and she took a cautious sip of her coffee before she met his eyes. "Why did you do that for me?"

He shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I saw how anxious you were about the questioning and I was annoyed by his persistence as well. Now then, on another note, would you like something to eat? I imagine you're hungry.

"Nej, ingen mat," she answered before finishing her coffee and glancing over at the television.

He sighed and against everything else he was feeling, he knelt down in front of her to meet her eyes. "I know you don't want to eat anything, Lisbeth, but your body is in starvation mode, which means you're not going to lose any more weight if you continue to starve. Your metabolism is stagnant at the moment and need calories."

She looked at him cautiously, not idiotic enough to believe he wanted to help her lose any more weight. Sherlock was using reverse psychology on her just to get her to eat something, anything. It was a gesture the young woman hadn't experienced from anyone else before. Even Mikael hadn't pushed her to eat, perhaps out of fear of her lashing out at him. Sherlock didn't seem afraid of anything.

"Something small."

"Why don't you show me something you would eat in Sweden? I'm only vaguely familiar with the food there."

She searched his eyes and stood up before she took her cup into the kitchen and placed it into the sink. Lisbeth grabbed the bread and placed two slices down before glancing over at him. "Will… will you eat with me?"

Sherlock smiled softly and nodded. "Yes, Lisbeth. I'll eat too."

Lisbeth nearly breathed a sigh of relief before she went into the fridge and grabbed two long slices of cheese before placing them on the rye bread and then placed both slices separately in the pan.

"Open faced cheese sandwiches," Sherlock deduced. "Not exactly a breakfast of champions, is it?"

She found herself smirking slightly as she watched the cheese melt on each piece. "You wanted to see what I eat at home. This is what I eat."

Sherlock smiled softly as he watched her. She looked so fragile and he could make out her shoulder blades from under her shirt but he was amazed at how strong she looked at the same time as she made their sandwiches.

This young woman had an eating disorder and he knew she knew his trick, but she would succumb to it anyway, and she was doing it willingly. That seemed strong in his eyes.

Lisbeth placed each rye bread loaf on separate plates and then handed one to him before she grabbed her plate and then looked at him. "Where do you want me to eat?"

Sherlock listened to the television in the living room and then looked down at the faded smiley face on her arm. "Let's eat in my room." He led the two of them into his bedroom and opened his laptop up after they had both sat down on the messy bed.

She watched him and while they waited for it to boot up, she looked down at her food. For a moment, she thought about telling Sherlock how her eating disorder started, but then shook the thought out of her head. He barely knew her and they would be going their separate ways soon anyway. It wasn't worth confiding in this man.

"What are you looking up?"

Sherlock tapped a few things on the keyboard. "I figured we would have a bit of fun. If I were to tell you someone reported their child missing then bought a fairly expensive house after a week of their child being missing, what would you deduce from that?"

_He was testing her._ "I would say that they had taken out a life insurance policy before murdering their own child and used the money to buy a house."

His lips curved upwards in a satisfied expression and then tapped a few more times. "That was an easy one. What about this one; A man comes into a modest amount of money and claims to have placed it into a bank for safe keeping. Then, a week later, this same man reports the bank having lost his money and threatens to sue."

She thought for a moment and the obvious answer came to her now. "Easy. He gambled it away in such small increments that they wouldn't have hardly noticed it wasn't in their bank anymore. An irresponsible employee never asked for a social security number so the man would call to take out the money at the same time as the employee was working. He gambled the money away and lost everything, then he wanted to sue to get his money back again. Are these actual cases or ones you made up in your head?"

The solution to his question made him chuckle to himself. Lisbeth had the same intellectual skill as himself, the ability to think abstractly in only a few moments, what would take Greg Lestrade nearly a week to figure out alone."

"Does anyone else know about your talents, Lisbeth?"

Her employer, her ex-guardian, and Mikael knew about her hacking talents but she didn't know if she should tell the detective about ithose/i talents quite yet. "My friend Mikael probably is aware of my intellect but he doesn't think like either of us."

He nodded in understanding and then Lisbeth saw his hands start to tremble. Sherlock quickly grabbed his hands together before making an attempt at pretending he was rubbing some type of pain out of them.

"How long as it been?"

Sherlock glanced at her now. "I'm sorry? How long?"

She bit her lip now and placed her hand in the one that was closest to her, holding it to stop it from shaking and maybe even provide a bit of comfort. "Since you used."

Sherlock looked down at their hands almost warily before he reached over with his free hand and took a bit of the cheese sandwich. "It's been about a week since I last shot up."

She tightened her hold of his hand and gently thumbed the back of it, mimicking the motion that Mikael liked to do with her. "Maybe going for a run would help distract you from thinking about it."

He searched her eyes and knew what she was doing now. It was a trick to get her exercise in. Sherlock didn't want to lose her trust though. She was already pretty closed off in the trust department and he would take what he could get. He didn't suppose it took a lot of her trust to sleep with this woman. It was obvious her self-esteem was through the floor.

"You haven't eaten any of your sandwich. Eat three bites of it first and then we can walk to the park."

_He didn't want her to run because he was trying to get her to put on weight._

She nervously moved her plate closer to her and then pulled a piece of the bread off, bringing the cheese along as well. "Du försöker göra mig fet."

He ran a hand through his hair, his other hand still entwined with hers. "I'm not trying to make you fat," he assured, translating aloud but more for his sake than hers. "I honestly don't think it's possible for you to even be fat, Lisbeth. I don't know where you got this idea from. Anyway, Just three bites and then we can go."

"Jag vill köra, inte gå," Lisbeth replied bitterly, forcing herself to swallow the first bite of bread and cheese.

"I know you want to run, but I haven't ran since I was in year seven and I don't plan to run again, if I can help it. Two more bites."

Sherlock was probably telling the truth about running but she knew his true intent. In this case, she didn't feel compelled to argue with him. At least he was letting her out for air and it was better than nothing at all. It was better than being cooped up inside the flat.

She pulled off another small piece and placed it in her mouth, feeling almost nauseous as she thought about the calories that would consume her as she was consuming them. "How are you so skinny? Maybe you have an eating disorder as well," she teased lightly.

He gave her a crooked smile and shook his head, mimicking her own motions and thumbed the top of her hand. "You don't truly believe I have anorexia. I'm sure you've already figured out the cause of my own figure."

"Ja," she answered, swallowing the second piece. "It's a combination of being a heroin addict and having a fast metabolism. You barely ate anything while you were using and because you had cases to solve, you were always on the move so you barely had time to put on any weight."

"Good deduction, Lisbeth Salander. I bet Sweden really misses you."

"Maybe one person," she admitted, breaking off another piece of cheese and bread before swallowing it.

He looked down at her curiously now. "Boyfriend?"

She half shrugged and then felt resigned to shake her head. "A friend," she corrected.

Sherlock looked at her inquisitively and then closed his laptop and released her hand before getting off the bed. "A friend with…?"

"Just a friend," Lisbeth said softly now. "I finished my three bites. Let's go."

Sherlock wanted to ask her more about this other man but knew how eager she was to get outside. "I'll get dressed out in the living room and you can – "

"I'm ready when you are. Just get dressed in here. It's your room after all."

He looked at her hesitantly for a moment. Well what the hell? They had already seen each other naked. But that had also been in near darkness, although the two of them had indeed seen and felt each other's bodies.

Sherlock pulled off his shirt and changed his boxers before pulling on a pair of jeans and another shirt from university that revealed his long, pale arms. When he turned around, he noticed she had tied her long shirt up a bit so it wasn't falling over her own jeans and didn't look like a nightshirt anymore. She had also pulled her hair back into a tight bun and then tucked the loose strands of hair with bobby pins.

He led them out of the room and then outside. As they walked, Lisbeth walking a few paces ahead of him, he felt a wave of worry wash over him. Now that he could see her in the morning light, he saw how thin she really looked. It was as if she were a walking skeleton. He couldn't even figure out how she was even standing at all. The sight of her frail figure made his stomach lurch; maybe John had been right to nag about her weight.

He swallowed hard and then walked quickly to meet her pace and grabbed her hand before moving over to the street and waved towards an oncoming cab. When Lisbeth looked at her questioningly, he subconsciously thumbed the back of her hand again.

"We need to go to a grocery store and get more groceries for the flat."

It was a feeble excuse but Sherlock, having never felt any selfish urge to take care of anyone that wasn't himself, found himself now worried for her well-being. He felt strange urges to look out for this young woman since she didn't seem to be looking out for her own well-being. Someone had to take responsibility and for some unknown reason, he decided that he wanted it to be him, and not John.


	4. Not Alone

Chapter Four: Not Alone

o.o.

.o.

Lisbeth Salander felt partially grateful for not having done any running that morning before going to the grocery store. The task and the walking around in Tesco's had taken a lot out of the young woman and she breathed a sigh of relief when they were back in 221B.

She helped Sherlock unpack mostly in silence but she could feel a pain in her chest from overexertion. She had only walked around the store with the consulting detective but her thinning body was telling her to stand still.

"What's wrong, Lisbeth?"

She swallowed hard and shook her head, one hand placed over her heart. "N-Nothing. I'm just tired. I need to lie down for a bit."

Sherlock watched her carefully as he finished unloading the food and turned towards her. "Go have a lie down on the sofa and try and relax. Do you want me to get a hold of John?"

Lisbeth shook her head instantly and then moved over to the sofa before she laid down and curled up on it, the pain in her chest instantly relaxing. She heard Sherlock shuffling around and then smelled a distinct smell before feeling the couch sink under his weight and a cool hand touching her forehead softly. The smell became stronger now and she felt something light be placed on her chest.

"Eucalyptus leaves," she deduced in a whisper.

Sherlock smiled down at her, her head carefully placed on his lap. "John has a eucalyptus plant in his room and I read that the aroma of the leaves helps one to relax and calm down as well as aids in oxygen production. I figured they might help you."

She smiled to herself now and let herself breathe in the scent of the leaves as he placed another on her chest, closer to her neck. "It should pass soon."

He didn't speak for several minutes and she thought momentarily that he had perhaps fallen asleep with his hand on her forehead but then the sound of his voice made her heart skip a beat. "How long have you been having chest pains?"

"Today or in general?"

She heard him sigh. "Don't pretend to be an idiot, Lisbeth. It doesn't suit you."

She should have known better than to ask that. Lisbeth closed her eyes, letting the eucalyptus waft through her nostrils. "Three weeks. At first it wasn't too bad. It was a flicker of pain and it was gone within seconds. Now I get it when I do physical activity and it's there for almost half an hour to an hour. It feels like someone stabbed me in my chest with a hot knife."

Sherlock's fingers faintly started to stroke the edge of her hairline. "Your body's trying to produce oxygen for your malnourished self and it can't pump fast enough. If you weighed more, it would be easier – "

"Sluta! I know what my body is doing. I know why it's doing it. I don't need you to give me a play-by-play explanation!" Lisbeth suddenly cut him off angrily. The pain in her chest magnified now and she shut her eyes tightly.

The young man sighed heavily when she scolded him to stop. He felt a bit miffed at her for getting angry at him when all of this was her own fault but there was a part of him that wanted to try and be patient for her sake. He placed another leaf by her clavicles and bit his lip before he spoke again.

"Why doesn't this happen when we… when we were in bed last night? That could be considered strenuous activity."

She thought about this and even though she didn't want to talk about it, Lisbeth felt like she owed him this for letting her stay here. She faintly felt the curvature of her mouth lift up in amusement; Sherlock couldn't even talk about their first night of sex with each other, and it made her anger momentarily dissipate for the time being.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "Maybe it was because I was distracted by other things and I wasn't focusing my full concentration on my breathing."

Sherlock shifted a bit, still holding her head on his lap. He set another leaf of eucalyptus on her chest with a shaky hand. He breathed in sharply. "Y-Yes, that's probably the reason. Err… do you think it would… help to d-distract you again?"

Lisbeth smirked to herself now. He was intelligent enough to know the scientific answer to that. Of course it wouldn't distract her. Now when she was already feeling the sharp pains and having difficulty breathing but the sentiment made her heart swell. Sherlock knew the logical real answer but yet he was still offering to help her. He didn't seem like the type to do that.

"Thank you for the offer, Sherlock, but I do not think it would distract me this late in the game. Perhaps later if I feel better."

"Of course," he nodded, looking down at her as he gently caressed her forehead. "It is your choice, Lisbeth, always. I was just trying to help."

She heard dejection in the last part of his sentence and then looked up at him. "I know," she nodded surely. "I know you were trying to help. Thank you. It means a lot, Sherlock."

He smiled ever so slightly now and nodded once. She smiled back and breathed in the eucalyptus just as John Watson walked through the door, the smell of Chinese takeout wafting through the flat.

It must be about five-thirty.

"Is it odd that our case load hasn't been as busy since she showed up?" John called to his friend as he set the bag down on the kitchen counter.

Sherlock tensed up now slightly and he stood up before carefully placing a pillow under Lisbeth's head to replace his lap. He cleared his throat and shrugged before shaking his head. "We have dry spells with our cases sometimes," he replied, matter-of-factly.

John nodded in agreement and then hung up his coat on the rack in the living room, only now seeing Lisbeth's state. Even though she was awake, the doctor seemed to be avoiding her. "Is she all right?"

"Why don't you go and ask her for yourself?"

There was a slight edge to Sherlock's tone and Lisbeth felt thankful for it. It felt like he knew how she was feeling, like a piece of furniture rather than an actual human being. He always seemed to be an intermediary for the two of them.

"All right, then. I will, since I can't get a straight answer out of you." John walked over to Lisbeth and knelt down before placing his cool hand on her forehead and then glancing down to look at the leaves on her chest. He looked over aSherlock in confusion. "Are these my eucalyptus leaves from – "

Sherlock cut across him as he got the plates out from the cupboard. "From your plant, yes. I assumed, quite correctly too, that they would help with her breathing condition, emphasized by her mild anxiety attack she was having as well."

John sighed and looked from his friend down to Lisbeth. "You ido/i why you're having anxiety and breathing issues, right, Lisbeth? I mean, you're aware of what's happening to your body, correct?"

Lisbeth fought the urge to reach up and punch the doctor. She closed her eyes and focused on the calming smell of the leaves. "Of course I'm aware. You are not my father nor my guardian so please do not talk down to me like I'm some sort of idiot. You know I have an eating disorder so obviously I know I have it as well. Take your condescending bullshit and tell it to someone else."

John seemed speechless at first but he was certainly not surprised. He'd dealt with difficult people before and it was apparent she wasn't any different. "Well, fine then. We've cleared up that issue. Why don't you come over and eat dinner with us?"

"Not hungry," Lisbeth said instantly, ignoring the hunger pang she was feeling in her stomach.

"I had a feeling you would say that. Lisbeth, you're dehydrated and lacking nutrients. You need to eat something, anything. I don't care what it is, so as long as you swallow it and keep it down," John persisted.

Lisbeth didn't say anything but thankfully she didn't need to.

"Sherlock? Where are you going? I thought we were going to eat together, like we normally do?"

"That would be inconsiderate, considering our guest. I have something for her, along with a bottle of water and a bottle of juice. She'll be well hydrated and she'll get the proper nutrients. I'm going to eat my dinner in my room and look for interesting cases," he spoke quickly as he picked off the leaves from her chest and threw out the old leaves in the garbage. "Come along, Lisbeth. We can reapply more if necessary."

"No you can't! The plant's in my bedroom, Sherlock!"

"No it's not!" Sherlock mimicked as he took wrapped an arm awkwardly around Lisbeth's body to stabilize her and make sure she wouldn't fall, their food in his free hand on a plate altogether. "I moved it. Now please do not bother us unless it's important."

John sighed but didn't say another word and seemed to just wave Sherlock's order away, as if he were used to it. Sherlock shut the door behind the two of them and lit candles to eat their dinner to.

"I hope you're not adverse to candle light. It's not meant for romantic purposes, I just find it easier on the eyes than the cold luminescence of a lamp." Sherlock didn't wait for any response from Lisbeth and proceeded to light the several candles that sat patiently on end tables and dressers.

He glanced back at Lisbeth who said nothing but was looking almost hungrily at Sherlock's plate of sweet and sour chicken with white rice. The young man turned around and moved over to sit across from her on the bed.

"Would you like to share this with me, Lisbeth?" He asked politely, taking his chopsticks and dividing the food up on the plate.

She chewed anxiously on her lower lip, not about to tell him how hungry she felt inside, how tortured she felt by food and the massive impact it had on her life. She wasn't about to tell him how she thought about food every second of every day but restricted herself to the point of starvation.

Finally, she shook her head and looked down at her bony fingers. "No, thank you. I'm okay."

He started biting his lip now in thought and then picked up one of the pieces of sweet and sour chicken and set it gently farthest away from him on the plate, inches away from her. "Do you think you could eat that?"

Lisbeth looked hesitantly at the piece of fried food, the pain in her chest returning, but this time out of panic. She shook her head and then wrapped her arms around herself.

Sherlock watched her as he scooped up some rice and ate it. "What made you like this, Lisbeth? What made you so… afraid to eat?"

"That's a pretty invasive question. I do not feel we know each other that well yet to answer it."

"Yet you feel comfortable enough to have sex with someone you barely knew at the time; that makes perfect sense. Either you're not choosy about who your sexual partner is for the moment, or you don't care about yourself. Given you have a pretty serious eating disorder, I would say it's the latter – "

"Why do you do that?" Lisbeth asked coldly. "Why do you feel the need to deduce people like you have the right? I thought we were friends!"

"And friends just have sexual encounters with each other? I can say with at least a bit of confidence that you and me think the same way and possibly even feel the same way. I didn't think that would ever be possible but it appears that it is. I'm not going to apologize for deducing correctly about you, not that I normally apologize to anyone anyway but I digress. We are friends but it's more me thinking aloud to make sense of things that don't normally make sense."

She was feeling angry and defensive but it was likely that it could be her eating disorder making her feel like this. "Vill du härleda alla dina vänner gillar det?"

Sherlock sighed quietly, realizing that it was making her uneasy to be deduced like this. She didn't like to be all figured out, like someone putting pieces of a puzzle together and finishing it in one sitting. He placed his chopsticks down on his place carefully and looked up at her.

"Yes, I do deduce all my friends like that, although I do not have very many friends, I must admit. I'm… I'm sorry, Lisbeth. I didn't… mean to make you feel uneasy. It was just me thinking aloud," Sherlock apologized.

She searched his face, as if trying to figure out by his body language if he was being sincere or just placating her. His body looked tense, but she took that as a good sign. He didn't seem to be the one to apologize very often and his tenseness told her that he felt uncomfortable right now. It couldn't be often he had sex with a woman or a man. Lisbeth wasn't even sure if she could call it "making love" since neither of them appeared to love each other.

"It's okay," she whispered now, eying the piece of chicken on the plate still, growing cold. She still held herself, trying to calm down at the sight of all the food.

She felt pathetic. The food wasn't hers, and he wasn't even making her eat all of it, and yet she still felt scared in the mere presence of it. She did feel strong that he was eating all of it and she wasn't, though. That made her strong, right?

He went back to eating his dinner but stole casual glances at her and then glanced at the untouched chicken. He then reached behind him where the juice and water still lay and grabbed both before placing them within her reach. "You should at least have the juice, to get some nutrients into your system so you don't get dizzy again."

She grabbed the small bottle of orange juice and instinctively flipped it over to look at the nutritional value.

_140 calories. 20g sugars._

She swallowed hard and took a shaky breath. Lisbeth set it down and opened the bottle of water instead before taking a drink from it. She was quiet, feeling his eyes on her as she made the lesser choice.

"One step at a time, Lisbeth. It'll take time. You're not going to get better overnight. I may not be a doctor but I can see how much you struggle and I can see the conflict going on inside your head every time you look at food. Just take it one day at a time," he assured her before swallowing some rice.

Lisbeth nodded but then a thought came to her. "What if I don't want to get better?"

A grim look appeared on Sherlock's face and it met his eyes as what she knew to be pity crept into them. "If you don't want to get better, then… it seems to be as if you want to die. That's the road you're going on at the moment."

She clenched her teeth and took a shaky breath. She wasn't sure if she wanted to die but she knew she wanted to be in control of her weight. She wanted to be thin and feel empty all the time. "I don't know what I want to do. I'm… I'm scared, Sherlock. What am I supposed to feel? Am I supposed to want to live and suddenly get better?"

There was a silence that stretched out for several moments between them until Sherlock spoke. "I… I can't answer that for you. Only you can. I can see you're scared and I'm not entirely sure what to do but I'm here for you, and… like it or not, so is John. We're both here for you and… I can't speak for him, but I want you to live, Lisbeth. I want you to live and to be able to see the world and read all the books that interest you. I want you to be able to stay alive to see the world change."

She felt her heart swell at his words and it scared her. She wasn't so easily charmed but there was something so purely genuine about this man that it made her heart soar. Mikael Blomkquist had only been able to do that to a certain extent, but it had been more physical than emotional with him.

She finished her water now and then reached over tentatively and picked up the rounded piece of sweet and sour chicken. Lisbeth slowly picked the pieces off in small chunks before eating each one until there was one small piece left. She chewed it slowly, counting each bite, before she took a small swig of orange juice.

"Good job, Lisbeth. I'm proud of you. That had to have been difficult for you."

She nodded and felt the piece of food sitting like a rock in her stomach but tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about the calories being absorbed into her body or the sugar that threatened to enlarge her thighs.

She held the juice bottle in her hands and watched patiently as he ate the rest of his dinner before placing the plate on the bedside table and bringing his laptop up onto the bed before opening it. He glanced up at her and then reached over and pulled the bed comforter so she could climb underneath it.

Lisbeth smiled softly. "Only if you join me, Sherlock Holmes."

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her. "Fine, but no funny business. I have important work to do."

She nodded in understanding and took off her pants before placing them on the floor and climbing under the covers. Lisbeth waited as Sherlock took off his clothes, all except for his boxers and his shirt, and joined her under the covers, placing his laptop onto his lap and opening up his emails.

She placed her head on his shoulder, watching him type with importance as he emailed Greg Lestrade, demanding more cases, open or cold. Lisbeth watched him read emails and flag the ones he deemed important enough for his attention and either answered them or placed them into another folder for further attention later. She brought the covers close to her body when she felt cold and soon felt her eyes becoming drowsy and closing on their own volition.

The young woman wrapped a skinny arm around his and she soon feel asleep. Sherlock typed and filed emails until he felt her breathing even out, and then closed the laptop. He repositioned their bodies so he was lying on his back and she was resting her head on his chest.

He gently caressed his fingers through her hair and traced her spinal column down before resting his hand on her back, ignoring the fact that he could feel every bone where his fingers made a trail. That wasn't important right now; what was important was that she was here with him, and he wasn't alone anymore.


End file.
